Scrambled eggs - seasoned with garlic salt, cracked pepper, parsley and a bit of buttermilk. A little under-seasoned with the salt, but it wasn’t overcooked and dry so I was happy with the effort. I promise I haven’t lost the plot, but I wanted to share something pretty significant that happened. Yesterday, I cooked for myself for the first time since April of this year.
Instant noodles don’t count, just saying.
For those who only know me through me writing, I LOVE food, I really do. Both cooking and eating. My mum and sister both tried to teach me to cook in my late teens, and much to their frustration, I didn’t really try very hard. When you have two amazing cooks at home, why would you want to ruin a good thing? It wasn’t until I was in my early twenties, when I met my ex-husband that I had a new-found motivation to learn how to cook. You could say I saw a life with him and didn’t want to spend the rest of our lives eating takeaways.
My pots and pans are currently in storage, as well as my spices. Cooking in my mum’s kitchen felt awkward, whereas in mine, even in the mess that it was, I knew where everything was. Memories of my teenage years came flashing back, and all I could do was giggle. No matter how old we get, and our relationships with our mothers shift, there’s always that little girl that is mortified if we scratch that non-stick pan.
JC sat in the conservatory, jealous of my bowl of food. She loves food too, but she is on a diet.
Change, no matter how small, still feels uncomfortable. That’s human nature isn’t it, to feel resistant to the unfamiliar? My scrambled eggs is only the beginning, how would a knife feel in my hands after so long? Clumsy probably. Until it becomes a part of me again. It takes me back to my teenage years, standing in the kitchen, instructions swirling. As a grown woman, I can look back and laugh.
My book is coming along, slowly but surely. I’m holding it back, I’m my own self filter. Even though I am an open book, there’s some things I still don’t know how to verbalise, maybe never will, or just don’t need to. Those are decisions I need to make as I continue to move on. My story is evolving, and I no longer feel stuck in the mud.
As I finished the plate of scrambled eggs, I began to feel excited. There are two portions of peacock fillets in the freezer, given to me by good friends. I’m going to cook them for our next potluck dinner, and my friends and I are going to create new food memories together. Mum will probably appreciate a break now and then too.
I will never be a domestic goddess, but at least you’ll never starve in my house.